


Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

by savanting



Category: Mulan (2020)
Genre: Female Friendship, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Journey to the Afterlife, One Shot, Post-Canon, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savanting/pseuds/savanting
Summary: Following her sacrifice to save Hua Mulan, Xian Lang must wander the afterlife in search of peace. One-Shot.
Relationships: Fa Mulan & Xian Lang (Disney)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any Disney properties, such as _Mulan_ (2020). This is just a little fic inspired by notions from the Chinese afterlife. I think it would be cool if someone wrote a full-length novel about what Xian Lang might do there, and how she might be able to pay for her misdeeds. This is just a small piece of what I imagine might happen. Enjoy!
> 
> The title comes from the poem of the same name by Dylan Thomas.

Xian Lang stood on the periphery between this world and the next. Mist surrounded her, and she waved her hand – now, miraculously, talon-free, as if she had shed all semblance of what had been her animalistic characteristics – through the wisps. A part of her felt lighter than she had felt in a long while. Yet another part felt heavy, like her insides were weighed down by stones.

Where her wound had been, the arrow that had pierced her breast in a killing blow, was gone too. Even so, death felt like a cloak of ice around her body.

Then the soft sounds of sobbing met her ears. Xian Lang turned her head to see the little warrior bent over a form that looked all too familiar. The body of a witch, now freed of its earthly chains, and Xian Lang could not even bring herself to feel grief because she did not miss that body that had felt like a cage for so long.

But – the little warrior was distressed, her face dripping with tears. And that bothered Xian Lang more than she had thought it ever could.

Xian Lang stepped through the mist and brushed her fingertips against the girl’s head. Even with the power of _qi_ , however, the girl did not feel the gesture that was meant to offer comfort. It seemed that death had severed the power that had once vibrated through her like a song whose melody was silent to everyone but her.

That song had been alive within the girl too, but with a much more different effect.

Xian Lang’s hand fell away, but still she stood and watched the girl as her shoulders shook with a sorrow that seemed excessive, given that they had been enemies for longer than they had been allies. But _qi_ brought people of all kinds and shades together. It had been only fate that had allowed them to cross paths. But now it was done. Xian Lang had saved the girl and paid for it with her life. Yet there was no regret she felt. She felt . . . at ease.

What a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

“Don’t waste your tears,” she whispered. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The words quaked in the air but did little because they could not reach the girl. Death offered no doorways, not even to witches.

But Xian Lang bent down and pressed a soft kiss to the girl’s temple. “Live a long and full life, Hua Mulan. Do all the things I never had the chance to do.”

The little warrior’s eyes opened wide as she looked up, startled, as if Xian Lang’s touch and words had passed through the barrier between life and death. But even though the girl’s eyes stared straight at her, they did not register Xian Lang’s presence. That was one regretful thing, the witch thought. Even a last goodbye was something barred from her.

Before Xian Lang could process these strangely mixed emotions, she stepped away, back into the embrace of the mist.

The last thing she saw was the little warrior’s mouth open, but she didn’t hear a word of what the girl had to say. It was for the best: Xian Lang didn’t need any more reason to linger in the world of the living as a ghost. If the girl’s words tethered her to the mortal plane, then there would be only more sorrow. But the little warrior was young and naïve. Xian Lang was not.

Yet, if she could have cried, she imagined that a few tears might have betrayed her anyway.

*

When Xian Lang passed through the mist, she found herself standing at the gates of what looked like a labyrinth. There was no one to be found, however; the witch was alone. But the sound of whispers clung to her and taunted her in snatches of words that hissed and bit at her.

_”Witch, how dare you—”_

_“—power gone, so hungry and wanting—”_

_“—did you really think you were free—”_

_“—little witch lost—”_

_“—you shall pay for your misdeeds—”_

_“—who will mourn you, monster—“_

And those were only the words she could make out through the muddle of noise that assailed her.

Xian Lang just closed her eyes. She _deserved_ this. What had she ever gained from the lives she had taken? She had only continued the cycle of hatred and despair. This kind of afterlife, wandering through an endless maze while ghoulish voices tormented her, was exactly what she should have expected.

Just because the little warrior had shed tears over her corpse meant nothing. The tears of a youngling were only another wound to carry.

Atonement – it might take centuries. Her spirit might fade to dust, but she would always be locked away here in some semblance of being. It was only right and just. She had not lived honorably, so her afterlife would not be peaceful. It was not a surprise. She should have expected no less.

But her hands shook as if she were freezing cold. Her fear nearly choked her.

All Xian Lang could do was take one step forward, and another, and another. Each step brought her closer to some form of peace – if she could be granted that at all.

Before she could enter the maze, however, there came a screech that reverberated through her skull. The voices rose in a cacophony.

_”—wrong, wrong, wrong—“_

_“—she is to pay for her crimes—”_

_“—trespasser, blasphemer, foolish child—“_

Xian Lang turned her head to see the mist parting to make way for – a familiar figure who stood with her shoulders back and her head tall, her black hair rippling behind her as she moved.

“You don’t have to go alone,” Hua Mulan said, as simply as if she appeared in the labyrinth of hell every single day of her life. “We’ll go together till you reach the end.”

Xian Lang didn’t understand. _How? How did you come here? You’ll be lost—_ But all she could muster were the words, “This place is only for the dead.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” the little warrior said brightly. “I’m still very much alive.”

Then Mulan pointed down to her ankle which bore a silver cord that Xian Lang knew connected to the girl’s body still in the world of the living.

“You have no idea what danger you’re in—” she began, but Mulan just laughed.

“I never leave my friends behind,” the girl said, “and you saved my life. This is the least I could do.”

Xian Lang felt a wash of emotion that would have brought others to tears – but not her.

“You are a foolish girl,” she finally said.

“You’re not the first person to say that to me,” Mulan said. Then she held out her hand. “Let’s go.”

Xian Lang just stared at the hand offered to her before gingerly taking it in her own. “You may be gone years,” she cautioned. “Your body may just be a husk when you return to it.”

“I owe you a debt, and you will be repaid in full,” she said, “no matter how long it takes.”

And Xian Lang knew that the little warrior would keep her word, whatever the cost.

“Very well,” she said, somewhat stiffly. “I accept your . . . kindness.”

Then the witch and the little warrior stepped into the afterlife’s maze, side by side, holding each other’s hand wherever the path would take them.


End file.
